


Show Me The Way

by VirtualxChaos



Series: Forever, The End [5]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Resident Evil 1, Short & Sweet, right before everything goes to shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirtualxChaos/pseuds/VirtualxChaos
Summary: Chris sighs softly, and Wesker can hear the fond exasperation in it. "Do you ever stop thinking about work, Al?""Hmm," Wesker hums consideringly. Did he?
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Series: Forever, The End [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516202
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	Show Me The Way

**Author's Note:**

> I realized all of my Chrisker is super-angsty, so I thought I'd give fluff a shot, haha. Also testing out a different writing style, s o let me know how you like it. 
> 
> Title from "Give Me A Sign" by Breaking Benjamin.
> 
> \- Chaos

In the months leading up to what would later be known as the 'Arklay Mansion Incident,' Wesker ends up more involved with Chris than he ever planned to. They lay side by side in Chris's creaky bed that is more than a little cramped for two grown men and definitely more uncomfortable than Wesker's expensive mattress, but there's something about Chris's little apartment that sets some part of him at ease in a way his luxuriously furnished apartment never does. It's full of secondhand furniture--from the older styled coffee table to the sagging brown loveseat that has permanent indents shaped into it from years of use(and is deceptively comfortable), to the mismatched barstools at the kitchen counter--and clearly lived in, if the empty gatorade bottles on the coffee table and the mail piled on the kitchen counter are anything to go by; the scuff marks on the doorframes and the clothes haphazardly thrown towards the closet with varying degrees of inaccuracy. Sometimes Wesker will catch faint traces of nicotine that make him wonder if Chris smokes, although he's never seen Chris do it, and he never tastes it when they kiss.

Chris playing with the ends of his hair temporarily brings him out of his musings. Umbrella are getting closer and closer to their desired result for the T-virus, and the Tyrant is almost ready. Despite being what Wesker considers his most successful project, its soured by the knowledge of the path he is directing. He had initially joined S.T.A.R.S. under Umbrella's direction to keep tabs on as well as sabotage potential competition from other bio-weaponry organizations, and eventually set them against the T-002 with the intention of gathering combat data. The last time he had gone to the facility he’d learned that there had been an outbreak and the staff had been infected, and some of the test subjects had gotten loose. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Chris Redfield, Wesker has learned, is something he understands as True Good. It's a baffling phenomenon he has had the pleasure of experiencing, something that he didn’t believe in until it was presented to him over and over again. Chris is a decent subordinate and works well with a team, and an even better Pointman, but where other people would back down in favor of obeying orders, or minimizing danger, or just outright survival, logic and reason fly out the window. Its borderline naive and downright reckless most of the time, but he's witnessed the younger man put everything on the line, even going toe to toe with his superior(i.e. Wesker) over matters that held no personal significance to him because it wasn't right, or because there was a better way, even if the greater risk outweighed the potential loss they might be able to avoid. The first time it happened, Wesker had shut him down hard, and it lead to a palpable tension for weeks after that put the whole team on edge. The second time it happened, months later, despite his analytical mind telling him the correct course of action, to abandon the survivors to catch their target or risk failing the mission, he listened to Chris; if nothing else than to prove to Chris that he was Captain for a reason. In the end, they managed to save the victims and complete their mission, and Wesker has listened to Chris's gut instincts ever since. Reckless and hotheaded as the young Pointman was, it had yet to steer them wrong.

The idea that the road he's leading them down could irreparably damage their relationship makes Wesker doubt. Despite knowing that his face must be the cold unmoving mask that it always is, Chris somehow manages to sense the unease of his thoughts, because his idle twirling turns to fingers running through his hair. His messy, ungelled hair because today is an off day and Chris somehow convinced him not to leave the second the sun came up to get important work done. Instead he's laying on Chris's too-small bed using his arm as a pillow, idly staring at the hollow of his throat, listening to his steady heartbeat and concentrating on the gentle fingers in his hair instead of his spiraling thoughts. He thinks maybe he should be embarrassed, being subjected to such a comforting gesture; it felt uncomfortably like vulnerability, but it was a shallow and fleeting thought he did not act on.

He should tell Chris.

It's not the first time its crossed his thoughts, and he knows it won't be the last; every time he thinks it, it becomes harder and harder to talk himself out of it. Every reassuring squeeze on his shoulder when they're stressing on a case, every night dragging him away from the computer and out for drinks, every surprisingly soft kiss and spontaneous hug that he turns his nose at but secretly appreciates makes him wonder why he's doing this. They are on the verge of evolution and Wesker plays a vital role in that, but when Chris spoils him with affection, something that Wesker finds practically alien and thought was beneath him, but now he soaks it up like a sponge, and it sends a twinge of… something(he refuses to call it regret) in his chest when he thinks that he might lose this. 

Chris sighs softly, and Wesker can hear the fond exasperation in it. "Do you ever stop thinking about work, Al?" 

"Hmm," Wesker hums consideringly, not betraying the morose turn his thoughts have taken. Did he?

Chris laughs and shakes his head, pushing Wesker onto his back and crawling on top of him like a child, which Wesker graciously allows. Right up until Chris tries to kiss him, which he puts a stop to with his hand, and he can feel Chris's frown against his palm. 

"I can smell your breath from here. I suggest brushing your teeth before making another attempt," he says with an air of mock disdain(he's sure someone else would call it teasing, but he's not trying to think about _her _ right now. Wesker doesn't do mundane things like _teasing_, he judges harshly and without mercy). In response, Chris blows a raspberry on his hand, to which he does nothing but raise an eyebrow. He's changed his mind, his Pointman is an overgrown child and Wesker doesn't know why he tolerates him. "You're no fun," Chris pouts(Wesker is absolutely positive he has no idea he's doing it) and rolls off of him, pajama pants low on his hips, and Wesker watches the muscles in his back shift as he stretches and disappears into the bathroom.

Running a hand over his mussed hair, Wesker gets up and heads for the kitchen to start the coffee pot--a high-end coffee maker that looks out of place on the outdated countertop, because he was absolutely appalled when he discovered two months ago that Chris _didn't own one. _Honestly, sometimes Wesker thinks the younger man's only redeeming quality is his good looks. 

The first thing Chris notices when he comes out of the bedroom fifteen minutes later is that Wesker is wearing a black wife beater, something wildly different than anything else he’s ever seen Wesker wear. It accentuates his slim frame and subtly outlines all his muscles, baring his arms in a way that Chris _very _much appreciates. The longer he stares the more that it looks familiar, and his stomach does a weird flip when he realizes Wesker is wearing his shirt. 

The man in question is raises a questioning eyebrow at him, probably at the way he’s standing there gaping like a fish. Chris jaw snaps shut with a click and Wesker smirks, probably correctly guessing the reason for Chris’s temporary lapse in intelligence, and his face grows hot. Reclining on the couch, Wesker sips coffee from the biggest mug Chris owns, a rounded ceramic thing that says “If you at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again,” that he thinks Claire bought him for… his birthday, or something. Christmas? Scratching his head, he wandered over to the coffee pot where everything sat neatly organized next to it on the counter. A creamer he’s never tried before, a container of sugar that appeared in the same fashion as the coffee maker, a spoon on a neatly folded napkin, and an empty S.T.A.R.S. mug. Chris smiled at the idea of Wesker putting it there for him in case he wanted some. 

By the time he’s finished Wesker has gotten up and come to stand behind him, and he turns around to say--

Something that he doesn’t remember, because the second he turns to face him Wesker pins his hips to the counter, kissing him with a surprising fervor that makes him slam a hand down on the counter to steady himself, completely dominating his mouth as Chris struggles simply to keep up, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught. A chilled hand slips under the hem of his shirt and splays across the heated skin of his lower back, pressing them together so that he can feel every familiar inch of him, and he’s kissed so thoroughly that it makes his knees weak. 

And then it's over as suddenly as it started, Wesker smirking down at him and leaving him breathless and dazed, confused and cold as Wesker just goes back to the couch and picks up his coffee again like that didn’t just happen. Taking a few seconds to come to grasp with what the _hell _just happened, he swears a few choice words as he goes back to making his coffee. His grumbling quiets a bit when he hears Wesker chuckling, a sound he always appreciates, even if it is at his own expense. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard it in the year and a half that he’s known Wesker, so he begrudgingly lets it slide. One of these days he’s determined to get an actual smile out of the man. With a sigh, he sets the spoon down and joins Wesker on the couch, making a face at the news as he sipped his too-strong coffee. Today was going to be a good day.


End file.
